Wheelchair Chronicles
by pantyraid
Summary: Billy "The Beast" Black has seen a lot of things in his life, but now it's just starting to get ridiculous.


Above the iridescent waves of a dying day, high above the water, a hunter waited. The air tasted of salt and foliage, with the lingering scent of despair. The long blades of grass tickled his bare feet. He tasted the humid air, picking up the faint traces of torment and fear. His steady heartbeat began to increase as his senses heightened. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He tilted his head to the sound of a struggle. A hundred yards away, maybe. He stilled as if to avoid being seen by invisible eyes, his body stiffening like a rock. A rock with long, luscious hair that greyed every single day his fucking son did something stupid.

The animal inside of him was growling, yearning to break free. The long, pube-like hairs on his arms rose, threatening to turn into equally coarse fur. His pelt was the colour and consistency of a forty year old stripper who let her snatch hair grow until her entire body was taken over by it, similarly like a temple being devoured by climbing vines of ivy. Except, his body wasn't a temple and there was no treasure buried inside of him, just years of anger and dissatisfaction brought on by his yiffing son, Jacob.

Speaking of that little shit, Billy was sure his son was either watching that anime porn on the internet again, or talking to that raucous Bella. After throwing herself off a cliff, the elderly man had forbidden any future contact with the suicidal teenager, but apparently her pheromones were too much for Jacob to stay away from. He wasn't sure what he smelled in her, but whatever it was, it clearly wasn't the strong odour of fish coming from between her legs. That girl produced more yeast than a bakery.

A loud yell broke him from his thoughts and he was thankful he no longer had to think about a seventeen year old girl's lack of genital hygiene, or his son's choice in pornography. He rolled himself around and began a brisk pace towards the ruckus. This was the third time this week that he had to break apart a fight between any given pair of assholes Jacob hung around with. He muttered some sort of aboriginal chant before he turned into a wolf.

That may seem rad, but keep in mind, this fucker is disabled. Not even like a limp or a bunion, but full-on paralyzed waist down. The wheelchair became a part of him, even when he transformed. The back legs of his wolf were actually wheels, like those strap-on contraptions you see in Youtube videos of cats or dogs that have amputations. This fucker is half wolf, half Tonka Truck.

Blasting off at the speed of light, Billy the Hot Wheels wolf came to a screeching halt in front of the pair of fighting kids. One of them was like twelve and the other was in his mid-twenties, and the fighting was pretty sexual. There was loose neck skin being bit and claws being raked down backs, and honestly, the homosexual atmosphere was making this conservative elder pretty fucking pissed. Even though he was in some tribal gang of disabled werewolves or whatever, he was sure of two things: he was a Republican at heart, and jet fuel can't melt steel beams. That being said, it was time to get down to business.

 _Get off my porch, faggots,_ Billy muttered through their kindred wolf brain bond thing. The fighting/yiffing stopped immediately and he was almost completely positive he saw some sort of erection shrinking going down. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that those gays were here fighting over Jacob. Ever since his son began sprouting hair in his pits a few months ago, he's had to shoo off packs of hormonal queers on the daily. It was getting tiring, to be honest.

The males left promptly, and so he could safely turn back into his sagging humanoid form without any fear of being gangraped by the homosexuals. As he wheeled his way inside his shack, completely naked, he heard grunting coming from his son's room.

Ignoring it, he turned on the TV to watch women's tennis but found that he couldn't because their internet was suddenly absolute shit.

"You fucking piece of weeaboo shit," he roared, making a perfect three-point turn and sailing down the hallway. As expected, his son was hunched over his desktop, some kind of explicit anime video playing on the screen, loud whacking in the air. The vibrations from the rubber wheels on the shitty floorboards must have been the hint, because Jacob was ripping his headphones out and hardkilling his computer before screaming "dad!"

"Jacob, how many fucking times do I have to tell you to stop watching that Asian shit when tennis is on?" Billy was pretty god damn pissed, but thankful it wasn't the furry porn this time. His son was trying to cover himself up. Disgusting and pathetic.

"That's it, you're going to counselling." Given the fact they lived in the middle of nowhere, he wasn't even sure if he could find therapy for an addiction to animated porn, but fuck, he was going to try. "Tomorrow morning. Be ready."

He made another flawless turn before going to bed, his mood for watching half-naked, grunting women deflated by his son's sick obsession.


End file.
